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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157825">Superbug</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/reysrose/pseuds/reysrose'>reysrose</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Saturn [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crime Scene, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Fever, Multi, Pneumonia, Sick Character, Sickfic, Sings: "Welcome to hell" Rosa Diaz has pneumonia edition, at least a little autobiographical, bronchitis, but I was 12 not 30 something, don't ignore steadily worsening cold symptoms kids, inhalers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:21:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,985</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157825</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/reysrose/pseuds/reysrose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Diazes do not get sick. Just ask Rosa. (Do not ask Amy, or Jake, or the doctor)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago, Rosa Diaz/Amy Santiago, Rosa Diaz/Jake Peralta, Rosa Diaz/Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Saturn [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724032</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Superbug</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I love sickfic and nobody writes it anymore so I did it. yippee. Do NOT get pneumonia it sucks so badly. Wash ya hands.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I told you not to come to work today,” Amy says, pressing one hand to Rosa’s cheek. Rosa shakes her off, giving her a dirty look. They’re in the precinct, for fuck’s sake. Amy rolls her eyes and grimaces at her, handing her the bottle of Tylenol from the first aid kit. </p><p>“I’m fine,” Rosa rasps, shaking two pills into her hand and dry swallowing them, grimacing when it makes her throat burn. She coughs, ignoring the mucus rattling in her lungs, and turns back to Amy, wiping her nose with a kleenex.</p><p>“It’s just a cold,” Rosa grumbles, tossing her tissue in the trash. Jake comes up to her desk too, and she rolls her eyes. They’re the worst. Her partners are truly the fucking worst. Jake plunks a yellow sports drink on her desk and raises an eyebrow at her when she flips him off.</p><p>“Maybe it was just a cold a week ago, but you didn’t take it easy, you went on a two day stakeout and got almost no sleep, and you stood outside in the cold for half the weekend. It is definitely not just a cold,” Amy snaps at her. Rosa rolls her eyes again. She’s too tired to actually retort, so she puts her face down on her desk instead, waving her hand. Jake drops a kiss on the crown of her head.</p><p>“Tell your wife to leave me alone,” Rosa grumbles, as Jake rubs her back in slow circles and uncaps the sports drink. She lifts her head enough to take a couple sips of it, looking at Jake with bleary eyes. </p><p>“Oh, so when she’s annoying you she’s MY wife,” Jake grumbles, walking back to his desk.</p><p>“Legally, she’s always your wife,” Rosa yells hoarsely, before breaking into a frantic spasm of coughing. She swallows hard, gagging a little on the lungful of crap she brings up, and goes back to paperwork, ignoring her hand shaking on her pen. </p><p>Her head is down on her desk again when Holt shouts for her and Jake. She stands up and the room swirls around as sinus pressure collects in her head and her eyes cross. She grunts and stumbles, catching herself on her desk for a second and collecting herself. Thank God Amy is downstairs right now, because she would be frog marching her ass home. </p><p>“Peralta, Diaz,” Captain says, looking at Rosa suspiciously as she lists toward Jake for a second before straightening herself up, “I have a crime scene I need you both at.” </p><p>Rosa groans. Jake herds her into their squad car, taking the keys from her. When she doesn’t protest at all, he reaches out and feels her forehead.</p><p>“Jesus, Rosa-” </p><p>“Leave it. The sooner we get to this crime scene, the sooner we can go home.”</p><p>She falls asleep in the car. They get stuck in traditional Brooklyn gridlock, and she tries really hard to stay awake but she feels like absolute shit. At one point she coughs, and it hurts so badly she makes a weird noise that has Jake looking at her with more concern than she appreciates. </p><p>“I’m still fine, Peralta,” she slurs, the heat of the fever making her eyes ache and her skull throb. She coughs again, long and hard and aching, then leans her very hot head against the very cold window. Jake rubs her knee. She sighs, breath catching in her tender, scratchy lungs, and takes a sip of her coffee. </p><p>“Do not tell Amy I went to a crime scene today. She will murder me.”</p><p>She presses her forehead to the window again, reaching to cover Jake’s hand with her own, and closes her eyes as the car jolts to a stop. </p><p>“Hey,” someone is shaking her shoulder, “Rosa, we’re here.”</p><p>“Mmmm,” she mumbles, “Here where?”</p><p>“The...crime scene?”</p><p>“Oh,” she grunts, and then it hits her and she jolts upright, swinging her legs out of the car and straightening herself up, palms flat on the hood, “Fuck! Fucking shit, why did you let me fall asleep-”</p><p>“Rosa, it’s okay,” Jake murmurs, taking her by the elbows and leading her toward the warehouse where she’s assuming her crime scene is. </p><p>“I fell asleep at work!” She moans, pulling her badge off her belt to flash at ESU. The place stinks to high heaven and she wrinkles her nose, pulling her scarf up over it.</p><p>“Jesus,” Jake says, “I would have loved a warning.”</p><p>“This is a dead body, isn’t it?”</p><p>“I’m amazed you can smell that through your fucking congestion.”</p><p>“That’s how you know it’s bad,” Rosa grumbles. Her head throbs, and the stink is making her need to cough, so she does, right into her scarf with a groan. When she bends down to bag evidence, her head starts spinning as the pressure shifts, and she puts both hands on the ground to steady herself, breathing deep. </p><p>“Hey Diaz! You okay?”</p><p>“Fine,” she rasps. Her voice is getting worse, and she still feels like she might pass out, squeezing her eyes shut, palms still on the ground. </p><p>“Jake,” she grunts, “I’m gonna take some statements.” </p><p>She does not take statements. The uniformed officers already did that. Instead she sits on the curb with her head between her knees, taking deep breaths and stripping down to her shirt because she’s burning the fuck up. </p><p>“That’s it,” Jake says, as they get in the car, “I’m taking you to the doctor.”</p><p>“We gotta work,” Rosa mumbles, leaning her head on his shoulder as he drives. Her face is throbbing, and she keeps coughing and coughing and coughing-</p><p>“It’s bronchitis,” the doctor says, an hour and a half later. Rosa is laying on the exam table, half asleep and playing on her phone. Her fever is 103, her blood pressure is low, her heart rate is high. She could not care less, she just wants to go to sleep. Jake kisses her forehead, taking the prescriptions from the doctor and leading her back to the car. </p><p>“Okay, let’s just go to the precinct and get our stuff, then we can go home, baby.” </p><p>Amy is standing in front of the elevator with her arms folded across her chest, one eyebrow raised. Rosa groans. She’s in deep, deep shit now. </p><p>“Rosa Diaz I swear to God,” Amy snaps, “I told you you needed to stay home.” </p><p>“Surprise?” Rosa croaks, raising one shoulder in a lazy shrug. She’s so tired, her head throbbing and her hands shaking, and she’s cold, so she snuggles into Amy when she gets the chance, pressing her face into Amy’s neck. </p><p>“God, you’re burning up,” Amy murmurs into her hair. Rosa nods, letting Amy fuss over her in the middle of the precinct. She’s too cold and miserable to care about looking weak, eyelids getting heavier by the second. Amy deposits her in a chair, and Rosa looks up at her in a daze. </p><p>“Where’s Jake,” she rasps, coughing into her fist with a whimper as her lungs rattle. Amy cups her cheek, pressing a tissue to her mouth. </p><p>“Went to get your stuff,” Amy murmurs, running her fingers through Rosa’s curls. Rosa coughs some more, shuffling the chair forward to lay her head on Amy’s desk. </p><p>“He’s going to drop us at home,” Amy says, still stroking through Rosa’s rat’s nest of sweaty curls, “and then go get your meds. We are gonna get this fever down.” </p><p>“I’m fine,” Rosa grunts, “You don’t have to stay with me, I’ll just sleep probably.”</p><p>“Baby,” Amy whispers to her, “you’re burning up. We need to get you cooled off, and I know you won’t do anything about it unless someone makes you.” Rosa opens her mouth to argue and Amy cuts her off with a sharp look. </p><p>Rosa sighs, grimacing when it catches in her throat and she wheezes. She tilts her forehead into Amy’s ribcage and yawns, then starts coughing into Amy’s uniform shirt before she can stop herself or pull her head away. Amy grabs another tissue for her, but uses it to sponge sweat off Rosa’s neck as Rosa struggles to breathe.</p><p>“Shhh,” Amy murmurs, “Breathe, baby. Breathe.” </p><p>It hurts to stop coughing but it hurts to keep coughing more than it hurts to stop. She whimpers because she can’t help it, her head feeling a little like it’s going to explode. Jake is there by the time she can breathe enough to pull her head away from Amy’s shirt, and he reaches for her, tugging her to her feet. She’s so tired, and her joints are throbbing, her head swimming. Her fever must be higher again. </p><p>“Here, lean on me,” Jake murmurs, wrapping his arm around her waist. She’s too tired to argue, sighing and sinking into the passenger seat and cranking the seat warmer up as much as she can. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, and then starts coughing. Again. Ugh.</p><p>“Please tell me one of the prescriptions was for cough meds,” She wheezes. Jake nods.</p><p>“There’s an antibiotic, a steroid, an inhaler, and some of that cough syrup with the codeine in it for you.”</p><p>“Thank God,” she mumbles. Her lungs ache, and when they pull up to their building she realizes how many stairs are between her and her bed. Jake wraps an arm around her waist again, but she only makes it to the first landing before she can’t breathe and starts wheezing, sinking into Amy’s chest as Jake places a warm hand over her cheek.</p><p>“Can’t do it,” Rosa wheezes, “Too many.” Jake lifts her into his arms, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. He’s huffing and puffing by the time Amy unlocks their door, and he sets her on the couch, kissing the top of her head. </p><p>“I’m gonna go get your meds,” Jake tells her, “what do you want for dinner?”</p><p>“Matzah ball soup,” she croaks, “and ice cream. Moose Tracks.”</p><p>“Can do,” Jake murmurs, squeezing her hand. She closes her eyes, letting her head fall back on a pillow, curling her legs up onto the couch. She feels Amy take her boots off and rest a hand on her forehead, then hears her footsteps creak across the wood floor.</p><p>“I need to take your temperature, love,” Amy murmurs. Rosa keeps her eyes closed but opens her mouth. She’s too tired to keep her eyes open anymore. </p><p>“Jesus, Rosa.”</p><p>“What?” she rasps.</p><p>“It’s just below 104. Come on, up.” </p><p>Amy gives her Tylenol and strips her down, getting her in the shower. Rosa yelps because the water is not at all warm, but her body sinks against the tile, Amy’s hands running over her scalp.</p><p>She dozes under the blanket on the couch off and on, registering very little beyond the gentle press of Amy’s fingers to her damp scalp and the pain in her joints. The fever makes it almost impossible for her to sleep for real, but she’s too exhausted to wake up. Amy drapes a cool cloth on her forehead, a thermometer under her tongue. </p><p>“Still too high, sweetheart,” Amy murmurs, and Rosa finally drifts off enough for things to fade. When she wakes up it’s to Jake’s palm on the side of her neck, and her chest aching as she coughs. </p><p>“I got your meds,” he says, rubbing the side of her neck as she keeps coughing. They try the inhaler first, then as she’s gasping around the remnants of albuterol in her mouth, Jake pours cough syrup down her throat. </p><p>“Gross,” she groans, “Gross.” </p><p>“I know, but it’ll help.” He’s right. She barely makes it through her soup and her antibiotics and steroids before she’s asleep, her head in Jake’s lap. </p><p>The next couple days pass in a haze. She’s too feverish to really register what’s going on beyond meds, soup, joint pain, coughing. Jake stays home with her, because she’s almost too weak to move alone. She’s curled in his lap, head on his shoulder because she can only breathe sitting up right now, coughing into her clenched fist. Jake rubs her back, right between her shoulder blades.</p><p>“This sucks,” she mumbles, sucking in a wheezing breath of air. Jake kisses her forehead, changing the channel. He hands her a cup and she takes small sips, pressing her sweaty forehead to his jaw. She feels terrible, and she coughs again, letting a few tears escape. </p><p>“You can have more Tylenol and cough meds soon,” he tells her, dabbing at her cheeks with a crumpled tissue. Rosa yawns, and she’s asleep again in seconds. </p><p>No matter how much she sleeps she still feels tired, and her lungs feel like someone took sandpaper to the insides of them and then filled them with concrete. She almost never sees Amy, because she’s asleep when Amy leaves and about 10 minutes from falling asleep again by the time Amy gets home. Jake is good at taking care of her, but he’s not Amy, and Rosa generally tends to gravitate to Amy when she feels really terrible. When Amy gets home that night, she’s barely awake, fighting to finish a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It’s Friday, and she started running her fever Tuesday. Jake claims it is lower, but she doesn’t feel better. Amy kisses her temple and frowns at her, scanning her with the fancy ear thermometer she’d bought Wednesday so she wouldn’t have to wake Rosa up to check her temperature. </p><p>“Oh!” Amy exclaims, “It’s below 100!” </p><p>They spend the weekend cuddling and napping, curled together on the couch or under the blankets on their bed. Rosa coughs less and breathes better without needing a ton of drugs for it.</p><p>“I’m going back to work tomorrow,” she rasps on Sunday afternoon, letting Jake paint her nails poorly. Amy raises an eyebrow at her, looking up from her book and closing it.</p><p>“No,” Amy says, putting her book down, “Absolutely not. You can barely walk up and down the steps to take Arlo out.”</p><p>“I’ll just do paperwork,” Rosa mumbles, “Not go out in the field.”</p><p>“Rosa-”</p><p>“I’m so bored,” she groans, “Please let me go back to work.”</p><p>“No.” </p><p>“I’ll stay home with you,” Amy says, pushing a tangle of curls behind Rosa’s ear and tugging her a little closer, “until you’re actually healthy enough to go back to your very physically demanding job that requires things like running.” </p><p>“You made your point,” Rosa grumbles, “move on.”</p><p>Her fever goes back up over night, because bronchitis is a fucking bitch, and when she wakes up in the morning she’s freezing and her legs hurt like she’s run a mile.</p><p>“Amy,” she croaks, “Ames!”</p><p>Amy comes in with a mug in her hands, and Rosa can smell elderberry and lemon. She takes a sip of it and starts coughing with a whimper, feeling her ribs start to ache. Amy takes her mug and feels the back of her neck, kissing her temple. </p><p>“You’re hot again,”</p><p>“Eyyyyy,” Rosa mumbles, “You think I’m hot.” </p><p>“You’re very feverish, dumbass,” Amy grumbles, “Up. Let’s steam this congestion out of you.”</p><p>Amy is a more hands on caretaker than Jake, which is both great and immensely frustrating at the same time. Rosa wants to nap, and she gets to, but Amy wakes her up for things like “hydration” and “food” and “fever reducers” and “her inhaler.”</p><p>“Let me sleeeep,” she whimpers, when Amy wakes her with a cup of water in one hand and her inhaler in the other. Rosa shoves her face into the couch cushion and turns her body away from her wife in a very clear “fuck off” gesture. Amy flicks her in the back of the head. </p><p>“Water. Meds. Then you need to eat something.”</p><p>“Ugh,” Rosa grumps, but she rolls over and lets Amy baby her. She’s still running a fever (will she ever not be running a fever again), and she misses her joints not hurting. Also misses work, and sex, and tasting things. She pouts as pathetically as she can manage up at Amy when Amy brings her mac and cheese. </p><p>“I know you don’t feel well,” Amy murmurs, stroking Rosa’s hair away from her face, “and I’m sorry, baby.” </p><p>Rosa takes a few bites of mac and cheese, wishes it actually tasted like cheese and not like cardboard. </p><p>She wakes up that afternoon when Jake comes in, dropping a kiss to her forehead. She misses being kissed on the mouth. </p><p>“Oof, kid,” Jake says, “We really have to break that fever.”</p><p>“Rosa, I think we should probably take you back to the doctor,” Amy tells her, handing her another mug of tea, “The antibiotics don’t seem to be making a difference.”</p><p>“I feel like trash,” she rasps, leaning into Jake when he sits down next to her. Amy tugs her feet into her lap. </p><p>“We’ll go tomorrow,” Amy says, rubbing circles on Rosa’s aching legs, “hopefully we’ll get you sorted out.”</p><p>“It’s pneumonia,” the doctor tells them the next morning. Rosa is trying and failing to stay awake on the exam table, leaning against Amy’s shoulder. Her arm aches from the blood draw, and there’s already a bruise blossoming on her skin. </p><p>“We’ll set her up with some new antibiotics, another round of steroids, and a second inhaler.” </p><p>“Great,” Rosa mumbles into Amy’s sweater, “can’t wait.” </p><p>The new antibiotics work fucking miracles, and Rosa wakes up without a fever for the first time in almost ten days. Amy makes her steam the crap out of her head and chest again, and then they curl up on the couch.</p><p>“Wanna watch something?” Amy asks, pressing her nose to Rosa’s freshly washed hair. Rosa yawns and nods, and actually makes it all the way through the movie without a nap. </p><p>“Does this mean I can go back to work now,” Rosa rasps, as the credits roll. Amy shakes her head.</p><p>“Don’t push it, Diaz.”</p><p>“Aye aye, Sarge.”</p>
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